MacAttack
by DanaWheels1
Summary: Gordon wants something different to eat after a rescue, and gets his brothers to go along with him.


MacAttack

By

DanaWheels

Author Notes: I'd like to thank Sam over at Tracy Island Chronicles and the Tracy Island Writers Forum, for the wonderful beta. I have learned so much from her, and you'll be seeing more from me in the future!

"Man, what a rescue!" Virgil exclaimed as he joined Gordon and John at Mobile Control.

"You said it! I am starving!" Gordon piped up.

"Well, there's food in Thunderbird Two. I guess we could take a break before heading back to Base." Scott said.

"Scott! I'm not talking about MRE's… I'm talking more like a trip to McDonalds!"

Scott fixed Gordon with a stare. "I hope you're kidding."

"No, I'm not. Aren't you a bit tired of all the healthy things that Grandma and Kyrano feed us? I haven't had a Big Mac in a long time! Even for me, it's a long swim to the nearest Golden Arches!" Gordon had that logical look on his face, the one that was meant to convey the complete practicality of what he was saying. The look that Scott didn't trust it for a minute.

"You know, Scott, Gordon's right. I could go for a trip to McDonalds myself." Virgil put in his two cents worth.

Scott sighed. He gave Virgil a weary _et tu, brute?_ look. Then he turned to John. "And you, John? I suppose you want in on this, as well?"

"Are you kidding? I spend half my time in Thunderbird Five. I don't even get the home cooking you get all the time! Count me in!"

Gordon put an arm around Scott's shoulders. "Aren't you just a little bit hungry for some fast food, Scott? We could have you fly Thunderbird One through the drive thru, and then land and give us our share."

"Thunderbird One won't fi—" Scott paused in mid sentence when he saw Gordon's expression, realizing he'd almost been had. Gordon just grinned.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Gordon," Scott said in an effort at recovering his dignity, "We're in the middle of nowhere. There _is_ no McDonald's here."

Gordon got busy at Mobile Control. "There's a city just 20 miles away. River Heights. They probably have one there. Do you want me to call ahead and check?"

Scott glared at Gordon, but the glare just seemed to slide off Gordon, much like water slid off a duck's back. When had he lost the ability to intimidate Gordon with just a look?

Scott sighed, resigned to the trip. "Okay, but if Dad finds out about this… I'm not taking any of the blame. You ganged up on me!"

"FAB!" all three brothers answered at once.

"I just know I'm going to regret this." Scott muttered under his breath. "Okay, so how do we work this?" he asked, in a normal tone of voice.

"Land Thunderbirds One and Two in the parking lot and go in and order." Virgil said with a smile.

"FAB. Let's go, before I regain my sanity."

Scott packed up Mobile Control, and with the help of John, got it back in its compartment in Thunderbird One.

Virgil and Gordon headed for Thunderbird Two, and waited for John, before taking off.

When they reached the city of River Heights, it didn't take long for them to find the McDonalds. Thunderbirds One and Two landed in the parking lot, and all four brothers exited their respective craft. "Man, sometimes I wish Thunderbird Two was smaller. Look how far out we had to park." Gordon complained.

They entered the McDonalds, aware of the stares they were getting. It wasn't often, if ever, that International Rescue showed up at a place where there wasn't someone to save.

Scott, ever the field commander, waited while his brothers dithered over what they wanted like kids, until he'd heard enough. "Okay, you guys, you have two minutes to make up your minds. After that, we're out of here." His brothers quickly gave him their selections, and then strode up to the counter. "Hi, can I get two Big Mac meals, and two Quarter Pounder with Cheese Meals to go, please? Oh, and make sure each meal is in a separate bag. Thank you." he smiled at the girl at the counter.

She gaped at the four men in their very recognizable International Rescue uniforms. "Uh, yes, sir. Would you like to Super-size those, sir?" she solemnly asked.

Scott turned and looked at his brothers, thought about the usual condition of the Tracy dinner table after a meal, then turned back and said, "Yeah. Good idea."

"That'll be $24.48. You are number 214." She handed them empty cups so they could go fill their own drinks.

An ominous rustling sound made them all turn slowly around, coming face to face with what looked like every man, woman and child in the restaurant, with more streaming in through the doors behind them. Every single one of them was clutching a pen and something resembling paper. Or something an autograph could reasonably be written on.

The boys quickly turned around again. "Oh, God. It's a siege. What do we do?" Virgil asked, in a whisper.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of this." Scott whispered back. He then turned to the restaurant patrons. "I'm sorry, but we don't sign autographs."

An ominous grumble ran through the crowd. Scott swallowed. "Please understand. If we did it for you, we'd have to do it for everyone, and it would hamper our operations if we were on a rescue."

To his relief, it worked. The crowd backed away, disappointed but not in any imminent danger of rioting.

A balding man Scott assumed was the store manager came running in at that moment, fighting his way through the crowd with a look of panic on his face. He stared when he saw the familiar blue uniforms. "Omigod is something wrong? Is there a fire? Is someone choking? Oh, no, is the health department coming? There goes my promotion!"

Scott quietly leaned toward the manager. "We do eat, you know."

The manager brightened. "Oh, of course! Wow! We're the "Official McDonalds of International Rescue"! I'll make district manager on this! I can't wait to get a plaque up!"

Scott paled. "Uh, sir. I really can't allow that. We have your security as well as our own to be concerned with. Do you REALLY want an enemy of International Rescue to come here, thinking that we frequent your establishment, and can get pictures of our craft or personnel? Or worse yet, capture someone here to use against us?"

The manager looked sick. "Uh, no. I guess not."

Gordon put his arm around the man's shoulders. "Never mind. At least you'll have the memories."

"Yes, because I doubt we'll ever do this again." Scott said, glaring at his smirking brothers.

He glanced again at the crowd. "The natives are getting restless again. Let's get out of here as fast as we can, guys. I do not want Dad seeing this on NTBS."

"FAB." Was the unanimous response.

The girl at the counter quietly called out, "Number 214."

"Virgil, you grab the food, and I'll take care of the drinks."

"FAB, Scott."

When Scott arrived at Thunderbird Two with the drinks, Virgil gave Scott his bag of food.

Gordon was already eating his, and smiled at Scott. "Thanks for this, Scott."

"It's a one time thing, Gordon. NEVER again, am I doing this." Scott said, as he left Thunderbird Two.

"Strap in, you two," said Virgil. "We can eat when we get airborne. I know I don't want to be caught out here, in case Dad calls."

"You got THAT right!" John said fervently.

Thunderbirds One and Two lifted off and headed for Tracy Island. About 30 minutes later, the communications link came alive. "Thunderbirds One and Two from Base. What's your ETA?" Jeff asked.

Virgil was very glad there was no evidence of their illicit trip on the video pickup. "ETA is 2.5 hours, Father."

"ETA is 30 minutes, Father." Scott responded.

"FAB. See you when you get home. Grandma and Kyrano have cooked up a huge feast since you boys have been gone so long."

After the communications link shut off, the groans coming from Thunderbirds One and Two could be heard miles away.

The End


End file.
